


5 Times Tony Looks Out For Peter

by mypedia



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Hurt Peter, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2018-12-06 11:53:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11600106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mypedia/pseuds/mypedia
Summary: ... and one time he's too late.In which Tony regrets ever recruiting Spiderbrat (but maybe he cares about Peter anyways).No character death.





	1. One

Tony glances at the caller ID and picks up in one ring.

 

“May,” he says, tinged with deliberate surprise. He can count on one hand the number of times she’s called him, and only to threaten him about Peter’s well-being. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

“It’s not—” She breaks off, then sighs. “Look, I don’t want to sound a false alarm. I know you’re busy…”

 

“Where is he?” Tony grabs a StarkPad off the table, sinks into a chair, and kicks his feet up on to the glass table, fondly remembering his life before all this underage webslinging bullshit.

 

“On patrol. He left hours ago. And he should have texted; he usually does by this time…”

 

Tony pulls up Peter’s stats… or he _should_ have, but nothing shows. “Huh. Suit’s currently offline.” He leans forward, eyebrows raised, scrolling through the history.

 

“Oh.” May is trying to be optimistic. “That’s good, right? That means he’s not in it, he’s done with patrol.”

 

“That’s a possibility.” Or the suit could be damaged beyond repair, or Peter was attacked and someone managed to both incapacitate and unclothe him, or really any number of horrifying possibilities. He bites down the rising worry to reassure May. “You’re right, he’s probably fine.”

 

“Of course, yes, it’s only— you know, Peter being his usual self.”

 

“Exactly.” Tony blows out a breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Probably. Listen, let me look into it and I’ll see what I can do.”

 

“Thank you, Tony. Just— Call me or text or anything. The minute you find out.”

 

“Gladly.” 

 

She hangs up, leaving him alone under the silent, heavy weight of responsibility. Working quickly, Tony begins tracking whatever he can find.

 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., where’s Parker’s phone?”

 

“Offline, sir.”

 

Tony scowls and tries not to imagine Peter in a dumpster with his throat slit. “Since when?”

 

“47 minutes ago.”

 

That’s more recent than he’d dared to hope for. Whatever happened to Peter, less than an hour’s window means he can’t have gotten far. “Alright, pull up any street camera footage at his last known time and location.”

 

It takes a few seconds, but then he’s staring at a grainy full-screen video of Peter swinging across houses, looking perfectly safe and normal, when he suddenly vanishes over a wall and doesn’t reappear.

 

“Replay,” Tony orders, feeling sick. “Slow it down and zoom.” On second viewing, absolutely nothing stands out. As far as he can see, nothing is chasing Spiderman. The street looks deserted. “Baby J, who lives in that house?” He flicks through the information beamed onto the tablet. A single mother, two kids, no history of criminal activity. 

 

What the hell. Did the kid manage to fall into a portal to Asgard? It would be exactly like him to pull some sort of stunt like that purely to send Tony to an early grave.

 

He lets the video keep playing, ignoring his heart hammering. How could someone just _disappear_? What the fuck is he going to tell May? He’s considering calling Thor when, after a few minutes of nothing, he notices a figure on the other side of the screen hop over the garden wall and turn onto the street. “Wait, wait, pause.” It’s definitely Peter, sans suit. Tony collapses back into his chair. “Track him,” he orders F.R.I.D.A.Y., gruff so the AI doesn't hear the pure relief rushing through him.

 

“Right away.” The cool tones say F.R.I.D.A.Y. is not fooled; Tony's scowl deepens.

 

F.R.I.D.A.Y. follows Peter as he walks through Queens all the way to his home. Eventually, time-stamped exactly 6 minutes ago, he walks up to the shitty 24-hour cafe across the street from his building, goes in, and doesn’t come out. All Tony has to do is look pointedly at the screen and F.R.I.D.A.Y. is dialing the cafe’s phone line.

 

“Hello?” A deep, vaguely Spanish voice answers.

 

Tony does not have the patience for pleasantries. “My name is Tony Stark, maybe you've heard of me. Put Peter on the phone.”

 

“Peter?”

 

“Skinny moron sitting at the counter, don’t pretend you don’t know exactly who I’m talking about.” There’s a short pause, and then— “Hello?” Peter’s voice.

 

“Nice to know you’re alive, Spiderman,” says Tony, acid curling through his tone.

 

“Mr. Stark! Why, uh, why are you... wait, what?”

 

“There a reason you missed curfew?” May never said Peter’s got a curfew, but when the kid begins stuttering, Tony knows he hit the mark.

 

“I— No, I didn’t, I don’t— What curfew?”

 

Tony stays silent. 

 

After less than a second, Peter blurts: “Okay, but it wasn’t my fault. I swear.” 

 

“Why are you sitting in a cafe _across the street_ from where your aunt is out of her mind worrying about you?”

 

There’s a sound that lets Tony know Peter just smacked his head. “I... Shit, sorry, I forgot about May. I was just getting some food, all my snacks are wet…”

 

“Why are they _wet_?” Tony demands.

 

“Uh,” Peter hesitates, then says like it’s a question, “I kind of, fell into a pool?”

 

“You fell,” Tony repeats through gritted teeth, “Into a pool.”

 

“Yeah.” Peter perks up as he begins to chatter excitedly. “It was awesome, actually! I was swinging over a wall onto the ground, and I landed fine, but there wasn’t… you know, ground. Oh, but my phone is fried.”

 

“Stark phones are waterproof,” Tony intones, almost without thinking.

 

“Um. Yeah. I don’t have a Stark phone.”

 

Wow. Tony is betrayed. “We will discuss _that_ little lapse in judgement and my subsequent inability to trust you later. Right now let’s talk about why you walked home when your suit is definitely Stark tech, certified waterproof.”

 

“My webbing isn’t.”

 

Tony bangs his head on the table. “Kid,” he grinds out, “The whole point of this gig is to be _responsible_.”

 

“I was! I didn't use it because I knew it would be dangerous."

 

“Right, thank you so much for not killing yourself." Peter is quiet, now apparently unsure what exactly Tony is upset about. Tony continues, throwing him a bone: "You didn’t think the webbing was something to mention the— oh, I don’t know— fifteen or so times I’ve asked if you need anything upgraded?”

 

“Oh, I didn't— I didn’t want to bother you. I’ve never gotten wet before.”

 

Jeez, this kid. There is something called independence, and yet another thing called _monumental stupidity._ “Have you heard of this natural phenomenon the scientists call rain?”

 

Peter is shamed into silence for literally one second. “Okay, I’m sorry... but in my defense I made a really mature and responsible decision by taking it off and not walking through Queens in a weaponless suit. That’s just, um, something I feel should be part of this… discussion.” 

 

Tony has a very uncomfortable feeling the word Peter was about to use was ‘lecture’. “Do you really think that’s a defense?” he asks sharply.

 

“…no,” Peter mumbles after a heavy pause. “You’re right, sorry, I just didn’t think about it." Tony doesn't say anything, letting him squirm for a few moments before the kid can't take it anymore. "Are you… I can still keep the suit, right?”

 

It’s tempting to say no, just to teach him a lesson. Then Tony remembers the last time, and sighs. “Yeah, you can keep the suit.”

 

“Awesome! Thanks Mr. Stark!” He hangs up before Tony can yell at him to call his aunt.

 

He types out a text to May, then pours himself a whiskey and downs it in one go.


	2. Two

For once in his life, Tony is in bed with Pepper by midnight, and she didn’t even have to threaten him to get him there. So when his phone ringtone pierces the sleepy silence, Pepper isn’t pleased with him.

 

“Tony.” She groans, pulling a pillow over her face. “You said you turned it off.”

 

“I did,” he replies grimly, already reaching for the light. “Selectively.”

 

“Then who…?”

 

Tony doesn’t answer, instead hitting accept. “What is it, Peter?” For a few beats all he hears is breathing, which tells him enough about Peter’s mental state, if not his physical. Spiderman is nothing if not hyperverbal.

 

“Can you come get me?” Peter’s voice is thin and scared, sending a jolt of protective concern through Tony. “Please.”

 

Pepper, the gift he has never deserved, had slid out of bed when she realized who was calling, and the balcony door glides open on her command, one of the better-equipped medical suits hovering patiently outside.

 

“What’s going on?” Tony nods his gratitude to Pepper and steps into the suit. He knows, on the other end of the phone, Peter’s hearing is advanced enough to pick up the sound of the thrusters. “Are you hurt?” Already, his heart is threatening to beat out of his chest, his mind conjuring scenarios of the kid bleeding out in some back alley behind a Taco Bell.

 

“No, I’m fine, it’s just…” In the background, Tony hears a deep voice growl: “Wrap it up, kid.”

 

“Who was that?” Tony demands, eyes scanning the general direction he’s flying in, where F.R.I.D.A.Y says Peter’s phone is. No explosions, nothing big that he can see. Over the phone, Peter’s talking to the man with the deep voice. Tony can’t quite make it out, but then he hears a yelp, and he slows his thrusters instantly. “Peter? Answer me, Parker.”

 

“This is Officer Williams at the 105th precinct. Your juvenile was arrested for drug possession.”

 

“He’s not my— hold on, come again, what?” Peter was buying  _drugs_? Tony powers full-speed ahead as his anxiety ebbs away, fueled by a newly-ignited murderous rage. “What drugs?”

 

“Cocaine and marijuana mostly.”

 

“Mostly…” he echoes incredulously.

 

“We also found some pills, but until they return from testing we can’t be sure. He claims they aren’t his, but, well… it’s what they all say.”

 

“I’m on my way.” Tony knows, logically, that in all likelihood Peter’s telling the truth, that he was probably in the wrong place at the wrong time. He’s still furious and ready to chew the kid out for getting involved. “ETA two minutes.”

 

He storms into the precinct exactly one and a half minutes later, ignoring the way the head of every cop and drunkard in the place swivels to face him. When he spots Peter slumped on a chair in front of a well-built cop, he beelines for the desk, face dark, but stops short a few paces away. 

 

Peter’s chewing on the sleeve of his shirt, guilt and fear running through every line of his frame as he listens to the officer, who is clearly following Tony’s previous plan of blasting the kid off. Taking in Peter's dejected expression and the way he's curled into himself, Tony feels all his righteous ire whittling away to shreds. Peter's just a kid. He may be responsible, well-adjusted, and shockingly mature, but he's only fifteen. It's all too easy to forget that Spiderman, the masked superhero and celebrated flag-bearer of New York City, is too young to leave the country without permission, too young to have a driver's license. Sure, he sometimes makes bad decisions, but Tony knows his heart's firmly in the right place, more than Tony's own conscience ever was.

 

“Peter." He approaches the pair. "And Officer Williams, I presume.”

 

“Mr. Stark!” Peter’s entire body sags with relief before it’s quickly replaced with shame. “I didn’t mean to, I was just— I only…”

 

“I’m assuming,” the officer says, cutting Peter off, “that you are not Mr. Parker’s father.”

 

“Nope,” Tony responds brightly. “Nor am I his guardian, kin, or legally tied to him in any way.” It’s easy to have a blasé attitude when he has enough money to throw at his problems to make them disappear.

 

“Right,” the cop says, confused. “So you would understand why—”

 

Tony jerks a finger at Peter, who rises obediently. “We’re going.”

 

The officer follows them, speaking angrily but with enough professionalism that Tony is grudgingly impressed. “Mr. Stark, in juvenile cases we emphasize rehabilitation and addiction services, not prosecution. Either way, you cannot just walk out of here with him.”

 

“Take it up with the mayor!” Tony calls, one hand flat on Peter’s upper back, pushing him out the door and into the quiet night air. 

 

Outside, Peter is uncharacteristically quiet, scuffing his sneakers on the concrete as if he’s waiting for Tony to yell at him. 

 

Tony taps his foot on the ground. “Getting arrested, really? If you’re trying to tick off a teenage bucket list, you couldn’t start with detention?”

 

“I got detention last week,” Peter informs him earnestly, which is neither here nor there, and so much like Peter that Tony feels any remaining irritation smoothly flow out of him.

 

“Why did you… Okay, nope, no, not going there.” He isn’t Peter’s dad, or guardian, or kin, or legally tied to him in any way. It’s not his business to know why the kid had detention, nor should he care. Which he doesn’t. It was pure curiousity driving his desire to know what trouble Peter got into at school, he tells himself.

 

Peter is still looking at him, silent and nervous, clearly expecting Tony to take the lead on this conversation. Tony sighs. It feels like something he’s been doing a lot lately, sighing. If this continues, he’s going to both be a top-level sigher as well as have Peter-induced heart failure before the year is out.

 

“Alright,” Tony spreads his arms in a vaguely permissive gesture, “lay it on me.”

 

It’s all the invitation Peter needs to let loose in a flurry of words and gesticulation. “It was— I busted a drug-dealer, he was selling to _kids_ … Crazy amounts, dirt cheap! Probably to get them hooked. I couldn’t let him get away with that! It went great except the cops showed up after I was done.”

 

“Where’s your suit?”

 

“I’d stashed it. It’s behind a dumpster a few streets away.”

 

“Why did you take the drugs instead of calling the cops?” This, Tony has a feeling, is the root of the issues the police held against Peter, and his suspicions are confirmed when Peter's words fall over themselves in an effort to explain.

 

“There were so many teens in the area, people he was gonna sell to… I thought they might come and take them. They _would_ have taken them, I know it.”

 

“So you took them instead.” Tony has to admit, Peter’s motives are unfailingly noble.

 

Peter nods. 

 

"Christ, Peter. You had so many other options. You could've webbed the drugs and left them for the cops. Or taken them and immediately dumped them in the river. Literally anything but _walk around in your civilian clothes_ with a buttload of cocaine on you."

 

Peter's stricken expression says that this is the first time either of those options has occurred to him at all. "I'm sorry, I didn't think..." Then he says, miserably: “Please don’t tell Aunt May.”

 

Tony scrubs a hand over his temple. “Look, let me level with you. You’re a good kid.” Peter nods warily, like he’s unsure if this is some sort of trap. “I believe what you’re saying.” Peter’s shoulders relax almost imperceptibly, and Tony feels a stab of resigned failure when he realizes it was a possibility in Peter’s mind that Tony might not. “Oh come on, kid, I know you don’t have the smarts to deal.”

 

Peter grins widely even though it’s couched as an insult. “The cop thought I did.”

 

“Yeah, well… the cop doesn’t know you.” Peter ducks his head, his smile not fading. “Did you give him hell?” Tony asks, because the subtext here is getting too personal for his comfort.

 

“I totally kicked him in the balls. Like, five times.”

 

“Yay impotence,” says Tony drily, and Peter laughs.

 

“Thanks for coming to get me, Mr. Stark.” He checks his watch and grimaces. “Oh, man." 

 

"Yeah, you're probably grounded."

 

"I better head back now or she'll literally kill me.”

 

They’re only a block away from Peter’s home, so Tony doesn’t offer a ride. “Alright.” He claps Peter on the back. “Never let it be said that I endorse juvenile delinquency, but… Good job.”

 

Peter’s eyes are bright as he waves at Tony before he leaps onto the roof of the precinct and takes off into the night.


	3. Three

Tony’s in the kitchen of the tower with Peter, having a quick snack before they head down to the lab. Technically the building isn’t really his anymore, but it doesn’t actually belong to the buyer yet, either, so Tony’s taking advantage of the legal grey area.

 

“What’s that?” Peter asks through a mouthful of banana, pointing to a pile of crystals Tony had left in a pile on the counter. He’d been examining them after the Avengers had collected them from the latest supervillains to descend on New York, who were using the gems as a power source.

 

“Ah, that’s, uh,” Tony stalls, “a power source.”

 

Peter tentatively picks one up, and and a flash of awareness crosses his features. “Oh, hey, I’ve seen this. It’s the same as the stuff that dude I fought this weekend had,” he says offhandedly, tossing the stone in the air and catching it in one hand like he hasn’t just admitted to getting involved in the dealings of an international supervillain league. 

 

Tony looks up sharply, mentally cataloguing everything Happy had mentioned lately about Peter’s night-time exploits. “Big guy in a wacky costume, electric wrists, unhealthy obsession with hot knives?” When Peter nods, Tony jabs him in the shoulder with half a bagel. “Oh, no. You stay away. That ring is bad news.”

 

“It’s okay,” Peter shrugs. “I got ‘im. I’ve got a couple of them so far but more keep popping up. Hey, do you think they’ve mastered cloning?” He chews thoughtfully on a breadstick. “That would be so cool.”

 

“Stop right there.” Tony’s been doing this whole superhero gig a while. He’s seen a lot, and he knows how the rules work. “You know what the universe just heard? A dare.”

 

“Oh, man.” Peter shudders. “Sorry, universe. Take it back. No clone armies needed here.”

 

“This is exactly why you’re going to give these perps at least a ten mile radius.”

 

“Because of clones?” asks Peter, looking a little doubtful.

 

“Because we don’t know what we’re dealing with. And the part we do know,” Tony’s lip curls back in a grimace, “isn’t encouraging. I don’t know where they got their armor from, but it’s high-tech. Your webs won’t hold them, that’s for sure.” A thought strikes him. “Wait, you said you… how did you take them down?”

 

Turning the crystal over in his hands, Peter says, “Well, I didn’t totally… _take them down,_ take them down. I kinda injured them and then they left.”

 

From what they’ve gathered, the League (as Hawkeye has taken to calling them) is currently casing areas of the city, laying low for a bigger attack. It makes sense, then, that they didn’t want to engage Spiderman. “Okay, nice work, but stay away from now.”

 

“Who’s gonna go after them then?”

 

“The Avengers.”

 

“Really?” Peter says, delighted, before he adds carefully: “I thought all of you were, y’know. Not talking.”

 

Tony appreciates Peter’s euphemistic attempts to be subtle, because what he means isn’t ‘Not talking’, it’s ‘Trying to kill each other’. “We’re on… tentative speaking terms. It’s getting worked out.”

 

“Oh. Okay.” Peter practically inhales half his mug of coffee when Tony puts it down in front of him, then looks up with whipped cream on his lips. “I can help you. I’ve already figured out a way to deal with the electric blasts.”

 

“Low resistance chip aimed to the left of the core processor?” Tony guesses easily.

 

Peter blinks at him. “Um. Yeah. I didn’t… I was still working on the aim left part.”

 

“Leave this to the big guns.” He claps Peter on the back. “We’ve got this covered.” It sounds a whole lot more elitist, high-school cliquey than it should have any right to, considering _Peter’s_ the one who snubbed their little club and not the other way around. 

 

Peter slurps the remaining dregs through the straw. After a short pause, he says, “I mean, I could still help though.”

 

Tony shakes his head, grabbing another breadstick and wagging it at the kid like a makeshift finger. “This is the big leagues. We only accept seasoned superheroes, the type with a truly well-honed suicidal streak.”

 

“I took down the Vulture,” Peter points out, his chin jutting out.

 

“I… Yeah, I know. That’s not what I meant.” The last thing Tony needs right now is for an impressionable teenager to start throwing himself headlong into danger more than he already does to prove he’s ready to die for the greater good. “Look, I’m not saying you can’t handle it, it’s just not the sort of shit a teenager should be caught up in. You’ll get hurt or killed or who knows what else, and trust me when I say none of us want that on our conscience.”

 

“You asked me to join the Avengers.”

 

“And even if you were part of the team, you’d be benched for this one.”

 

Peter glares at his breadstick for a second, and then jerks his head. “Fine, I’ll stay out of Manhattan. But if they’re in Queens, I gotta reel them in.”

 

“You won’t go _anywhere_ near them.” Tony can feel the traces of a headache beginning to develop.

 

“That’s my neighborhood!” Peter, evidently, is not ready to back down. “It’s why I started this whole thing, to protect my home.”

 

Tony snorts. “Lucky for you Queens happens to be in New York, and the Avengers have got NYC on lock.”

 

“C’mon, Mr. Stark, you can’t just ban me.”

 

“That’s exactly what I’m doing. In fact,” he claps his hands once and looks to the ceiling, “F.R.I.D.A.Y., make sure Karen knows to alert me the second Mr. Parker here decides to play Negasonic Teenage Warhead. Regular patrol is fine.”

 

Peter leans forwards onto the kitchen counter, his knees on the stool, looking more like a kid than he probably means to or is aware of. “But—”

 

“No buts.” Jesus, thinks Tony, he sounds like his mom back when she was actually interested in parenting.

 

“I can do it, I know—”

 

“ _No_ , Peter.”

 

Mutinous, Peter clenches his jaw as he flicks sesame seeds off his breadsticks. Then the tension slowly bleeds out of him and he nods. “Okay. I guess that makes sense. Gotta be safe and all, right?”

 

Tony’s more than a little thrown at how quickly Peter accepted the decision, but he decides not to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Glad we settled that. You still up for some grunt work in the lab?”

 

“Sure.” Peter hops down from the barstool, grabbing an apple as he goes, no doubt to satisfy his ever-increasing metabolism. “Can I help with the framework again?”

 

“I’ll do you one better. Remember that new bomb detection add-on I was tinkering with for the armor?”

 

“No way! You did it?”

 

“Almost. I need some extra hands with the circuitry.”

 

The grin Peter gives him is blinding.

 

*

 

Much as he would like to pretend he doesn’t, Tony checks in with Happy about Peter’s whereabouts and general wellbeing every couple of days. So the following Wednesday evening when Tony asks, too casually, “What’s up with Spidey?” and Happy just shrugs, Tony’s eyes narrow.

 

He spins away from the prototype repulser he’s remodeling, hands on hips. “What does _that_ mean?” he demands as he jabs a wrench into Happy’s pristine black suit. 

 

“I dunno, he hasn’t said anything lately.”

 

“Nothing?”

 

“Not since Sunday night.” There’s a pause, and then Happy offers, “I can call him if you want…” Peter’s radio silence apparently doesn’t concern Happy in the slightest, which is infuriating to Tony since his own hackles are raised.

 

“No.” He turns back to the lab bench, pulls down his goggles, and dismisses Happy with a flick of his hand. Okay, whatever. The kid’s fine, just being a regular teenager for once in his life. May would have called if Peter was dead or dying or on the way to death in any way, shape or form.

 

 *

 

“Mr. Stark, the Avengers have been called to action by Captain Rogers due to a large-scale disturbance within Queens.”

 

“Ugh, F.R.I.D.A.Y., don’t these people have any sense of timing?” Tony complains, even as he suits up. He meets the jet three miles away, already loaded up with the remaining Avengers.

 

He gets F.R.I.D.A.Y. to call into the plane. “You got room for one more on board?” 

 

Hawkeye’s voice answers. “Looks like it’s gonna be a rough one. You can come up but eyes on the ground would help.”

 

“What do you need?”

 

“A landing zone far from the scene, but close enough for medevac if needed.”

 

“On it.” He’s distracted as he flies, a gut feeling that something’s off. When Happy’s face fills his screen a few seconds later, he groans. “What is it? Lay it on me. Is my lab on fire? Did I leave the stove on?”

 

“Spiderman is at the scene,” Happy says, grim, and Tony closes his eyes briefly.

 

“Why the fuck— F.R.I.D.A.Y., ask Karen why the hell she decided not to mention that.”

 

“Karen is offline.”

 

Tony curses once more before patching through to the jet again. “Spiderman is on site,” he says curtly. “Do not involve him.”

 

“Why wouldn’t we inv— Is there something we should know?” Steve asks with a degree of caution in his voice, the same way they’ve all been stepping on eggshells around each other. It took a lot of time and training to get them to anything even resembling a unit (and the majority of that time, half the team had been international fugitives, which didn’t boost morale so much as strangle it). 

 

“No.” Tony scans the area of action, looking for a place Barton can land the jet as requested. “Just don’t involve him. He’s in over his head.”

 

“O-kay,” comes Clint’s voice. “Guys, I don’t see anywhere to set this thing down, so I’m gonna circle back a bit. Whoever’s hopping off, now’s the time.”

 

As Cap, Widow, Hulk, Scarlet Witch, Rhodey, and Falcon jump from the bottom hatch, Tony swoops lower, searching for a flash of red and blue, and his insides twist when he catches sight of Peter. Specifically, when he sees what Peter is doing: catching large chunks of debris and launching them back at the villains to serve as a distraction while hordes of people run screaming.

 

He flies straight into the ruckus, grabs Peter’s arm and shoots upwards (“Whoa, what, put me down!” yelps Peter), just as one of the goons sends a blast of electric energy at the exact spot Peter’s head was a split second ago. And okay, Tony knows the Spidey sense and Peter’s heightened reaction time would have saved him, but he’s allowed to be pissed. He deposits the kid on a nearby roof, then flicks his face-plate up and presses the hidden button on Peter’s neck to reboot the suit.

 

“There’s eleven of them, mostly that way,” Peter says through the mask, pointing east. He’s apparently ignoring everything besides the mission at hand. “I injured one. The webs—”

 

“Put this on.” Tony cuts him off and throws him a one-way comm; a second later he hears Karen.

 

“Surveying…”

 

F.R.I.D.A.Y. crackles in his ear. “Karen would like to inform you that Mr. Parker is currently fighting the League.”

 

“No _shit_. Cap, we got eleven.”

 

Through the comm, Steve says, “Ten.”

 

“NINE!” Hulk roars.

 

“Big guns,” Tony says in a hard voice, before turning his comm off and rounding on Peter. “I told you to stay _away_.”

 

The eyes of Peter’s mask are narrow. “There was no reason for me to stay out of it.”

 

“You have no weapons,” Tony points out darkly. “Their equipment melts your webs.”

 

“I don’t need weapons.” Peter’s jaw is tight. “I’m strong and I heal quick, same as Cap. He doesn’t use any weapons.”

 

“You’re not _trained_. All you know how to do when a knife comes at your face is duck.”

 

Peter huffs out a breath. “I was making sure people had time to get to safety.”

 

“Yeah? Well, you’re done. Go home, kid. I’ll deal with this later.” Tony flies off, joining Falcon in blasting a villain from the air.

 

Not two minutes later, in the thick of the fight, Tony does a quick head count. He’s just downed one, and Hulk’s smashing three more. Cap, Scarlet Witch, and Rhodey are dealing with one apiece, while Widow and Falcon are tag-teaming another. That means—

 

“Spiderman,” Falcon calls. “He’s charging up the knives, be careful.”

 

Tony turns towards the sound and immediately begins flying at breakneck speed. He wants to kick himself. Of course Peter didn't fucking go home, why would he? Nobody was there to physically deposit him there. Instead, Peter’s still here and trying to distract one of the villains, _again_ , while civilians run screaming from the bank under attack. The guy he’s fighting has little tendrils of webs uselessly dangling from his shoulders.

 

“Peter, MOVE,” Tony shouts, secret identity be damned, because Peter knows how to dodge and duck and throw things, but he’s never learned to parry a blow or use momentum to swing a punch. And now there are a dozen knives flying at his body.

 

Peter leaps up just as the knives hit, giving a thumbs-up as he does. He grabs all the knives from the wall in one swing and starts throwing them back at the guy, using his webs to slingshot some of them. 

 

Tony is going to kill him.

 

“Stark, on your left!”

 

Tony ducks just in time to avoid being flattened by one of Wanda’s weird red energy ball things. When he looks up, he can’t see Peter. The guy Peter was fighting looks smug and strides off to attack Rhodey. Tony can’t see Peter.

 

“Spiderman,” he says, at a normal volume. It feels like everything has stopped, even though there’s still three villains left and energy shooting everywhere. “Spiderman.”

 

“I got him!” Falcon yells into the comms. “We’re on the roof of the bank. He’s down but he’s fine, Stark, relax.”

 

Except Peter isn’t fine, because Tony didn’t even see what happened but now Peter has a concussion and he’s holding his left arm and there’s blood all over the shoulder of his suit.

 

“Need evac,” Tony says. Falcon smirks and flies off, leaving Peter and Tony alone.

 

“No no no,” Peter waves his arms wildly, “I’m fine, honestly, you don’t need to…”

 

“Barton, evac.”

 

“Like, right now?” Clint asks. “Don’t you want to be here for the clean-up? Remember, good PR, Hill will kill us all, etcetera etcetera.”

 

Tony pauses. “Yeah, fine, I’ll stay. He’s going back to the tower first. Now.”

 

“Mr. Stark, seriously, it’s just a few cuts…” The look Tony gives him shuts Peter up instantly.

 

“You’re going back to the tower, you’ll see whatever doctor Happy can scrounge up, and you will _wait_ there for me, capiche?” 

 

Peter nods. The jet moves in behind them, hovering smoothly a few meters up. Tony waits until he sees with this own two eyes that Peter is on the jet and the door is closed, before he goes back down to rejoin the fray.

 

*

 

They’re back where they started in the kitchen of the tower, and the weird, circular rhythm of it all has Tony feeling defensive, at fault for not realizing sooner what was staring him in the face. 

 

Peter is breathing heavily, his body still under strain from the beating it took. There are bruises snaking down his neck and across his arms, already mottled yellow and green, well on their way to healing. Seeing the injuries up close makes Tony’s guts twist in an angry mesh of righteous fury and self-hate.

 

Tony moves to stand in front of Peter in two strides, and the kid hangs his head. “Look at me.” Peter flinches a little at the icy tone, and Tony waits for him to take a breath and meet his gaze before commanding, just as coldly: “Explain.”

 

There’s a pause, and then Peter says quietly: “I took out his blaster before he could hurt anyone.”

 

“You almost killed yourself,” Tony hisses. He manages to keep a lid on the volume because one of them has to be the adult here, and if Tony starts yelling he knows he’s going to end up saying things he’ll regret.

 

“He was about to kill civilians.”

 

“You deliberately disobeyed my orders twice!”

 

Peter flounders, rocking backwards on his heels as if he has too much pent-up energy to stay still. “I… I know, I’m sorry, but I had to.”

 

“There are many things you _have_ to do, and this was not one of them.”

 

“I know, I just… I didn’t—”

 

Tony levels him with a glare so potent that Peter breaks off and swallows. “This is not where you argue. This is where you zip it and listen.”

 

“But I can’t just do nothing! I hate standing by while people get hurt, people I could _save_.”

 

The room reeks of antiseptic and Peter is covered in dried blood. Tony gives a bitter laugh. “Oh, really, you hate that, well. You know what I hate? I hate that I ever brought you in.” It’s condemnation of himself more than of the kid, but Peter looks crestfallen for a second before his expression shutters. “I, in my infinite wisdom, decided it would be clever to recruit a fucking toddler and now? Now I’m responsible every time aforementioned toddler almost dies. And I can’t take away your suit, because look what happened last time, so here we stand.”

 

Peter grips his own upper arms as he says, a little desperate, “I didn’t have a choice.”

 

“The Avengers were there. _We were taking care of it._ You didn’t need to get involved! You always think you know better but you _don’t_.” Tony throws his hands in the air. “Oh, add that to the list of things I hate. You make me sound like my father, which, always a fun time! Who doesn’t live their life with the burning desire to sound like their dead dad?”

 

Peter stays silent, clearly unsure what to say. He stands dejectedly, looking like a kicked puppy. Eventually, Tony just shakes his head and sags into the counter.

 

“You know what, just… go get Happy to take you home.”

 

“My suit…”

 

“I’ll do the repairs and have it sent over.”

 

Peter gives a little jerky half-nod before slipping out.

 

And Tony just feels like a dick.

 

He’s not an idiot. He noticed Peter’s face when Tony said he regretted recruiting him- the kid was crushed. And understandably, because Peter is not only a damn kid, but a kid with a whole host of abandonment issues. It’s not like Tony _meant_ to make him feel bad, it’s just… all of this worrying shit is new to him. It’s like he’s suddenly adopted a kid, except he really has none of the authority with all of the responsibility.

 

Which is his own fault. So. Really Tony only has himself to blame.

 

With that thought, he plucks the Spiderman suit off the counter and begins examining it.

 

*

 

Later that night, he sneaks into the Parker residence (he’s almost as scared of May as he is of Pepper). The lights are off in the whole apartment, and Peter’s room is empty, the balcony door open. Tony’s about to leave, assuming the kid is on patrol or at a friend’s house, when he sees Peter sitting on the fire escape with his legs swinging from the edge.

 

Tony is relieved to note that the bulk of the bruises have faded entirely, leaving only pinpricks of green and yellow discoloration which will doubtlessly disappear long before the end of the hour. Peter’s hand twitches when Tony walks towards him; he turns around and is on his feet before Tony even steps onto the fire escape, relaxing when he sees who it is.

 

“Hey, uh, Mr. Stark.” He scratches the back of his neck, eyes drifting to the suit in Tony’s hands. “I didn’t realize you were… I thought you’d just send a driver.”

 

“Take a seat, kid.” Tony throws Peter the suit and waits for him to sink back down to the floor before he leans against the railing himself. “How’s the arm?”

 

“Oh it’s, ah, it’s better.” Peter gives it a little experimental wiggle. “Almost healed I think.”

 

“Good.” He pauses, trying to parse out his words. Tony’s specialty is burning bridges, not reconstruction. There’s a reason his empire was founded on weaponry. “Listen,” he says finally,“Earlier I might’ve been a little harsher than I meant to be.”

 

“No no, really, it’s okay,” Peter says, his usual earnestness seeping through the words. “I deserved it. I’m really sorry, Mr. Stark, honestly.”

 

“You might have deserved some of it.” 

 

“I just really— I don’t know, I really believed I could handle it, you know?” Peter surveys the street below with the weariness of someone forty years his senior. “I thought I had it. And instead I ruined everything.”

 

Tony shrugs with one shoulder. New York has seen much worse. “I wouldn’t go that far… the city will live. They’ll be back to bitching about their rent in no time. None of the damage is on you, though, so I think you can dial down the self-flagellation a notch.”

 

“That’s not what I meant.” Peter doesn’t look at Tony when he says quietly, “I let you down.”

 

“I’m disappointed in you,” Tony allows, unwilling to tear into the kid again. “But no harm, no foul. We’ve all had our fair share of screw-ups.” 

 

“Ultron,” says Peter sagely.

 

“Yeah, we don’t need to go over them.”

 

Peter snorts, then winces. “Ow.”

 

“Almost healed, my ass.”

 

“He had a mean swing.”

 

“He _punched_ you?” Tony is incredulous. “Why didn’t you… Jesus, kid. I was going to wait a while, but I suppose this is as good an occasion as any to bring it up.”

 

“Bring what up?”

 

“I think we both know this isn’t working.” Peter looks stricken. “No, okay, calm your tits, I meant your training. Or lack thereof.”

 

“I go to the gym.” After a beat, Peter clarifies: “Well, I go sometimes. Or, like, every month or so.”

 

“Precisely my point. You’re going to continue jumping feet first into whatever trouble you can find, and I don’t want to have to keep living every day wondering if this is the day I get that phone call. So.” Tony spreads his arms, palms up. “Training.”

 

“Um. Okay,” Peter agrees with a significant amount of trepidation. “What type of training are we talking, exactly? Because I’m on thin ice with Aunt May as it is, so.”

 

“With the team.”

 

“The team?” Peter squeaks, eyes like saucers. “Like, the actual Avengers? You want me to fight with a god?” His eyes glaze over. “Holy shit, I’m gonna train with Cap.”

 

“Yeah, okay, don’t get your panties in a bunch, he’s not that great.”

 

“It’s _Captain America_.”

 

“You’re aware he was a war criminal until, like, a week ago?”

 

“Captain. America.”

 

“I hope he knocks you into a wall.”

 

“I would take that,” Peter informs Tony solemnly. “I would take that and I would say thank you.”

 

Tony snickers at the image. “Here’s the plan: I won’t sell the tower, I’ll call in some favors, and you come here for some good old-fashioned ass-kicking four times a week. Sound good?”

 

“Ned is gonna freak,” Peter breathes.

 

“Alright, good talk.” 

 

Tony’s almost at the door when Peter looks back and calls, “Hey Mr. Stark?” He waits until Tony looks at him to say, with a sly grin, “I don’t know if you’re supposed to tell a toddler to calm their tits.”

 

“Touché.”


	4. Four

“Is that a dick in your textbook?!”

 

Peter’s head whips around so fast at Tony’s gleeful question that it’s a wonder he doesn’t crack his neck. “No!” He slams the book shut. “Nope, nothing. Only math. Lots of math.”

 

“Really? Because it looked to me like a diverse assortment of genitalia sprinkled liberally in between all that math.” Tony rounds the workbench to approach the spot where Peter’s doing his algebra homework. Peter’s ears are tinged red and Tony can’t help a mad grin from spreading across his face at the unexpected boon. “Who would’ve thought you would stoop to such amateur vandalism?”

 

“I _didn’t_ ,” Peter says, folding his arms firmly over the closed textbook. “Really.”

 

Tony shrugs, fanning his palms out in a semi-placating gesture. “Okay, sure, not vandalism. You just have an artistic calling that drives you towards detailed representations of the male reproductive organ.”

 

“I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter tells him solemnly. Kid’s getting better at lying. Well, better in that he can make eye-contact. Baby steps.

 

“Lemme see.” It’s not even like Tony really gives a shit if Peter’s doodling dicks in the margins of his textbooks, but needling him about it is too sweet an opportunity to just drop. “C’mon, I want to support your budding artistic career.”

 

“No!” Peter’s fast, but Tony’s fueled by delighted adrenaline and snags it out of his grasp with relative ease. Flipping through the pages, slowly at first but then rifling through, Tony’s jaw goes slack. What the fuck?

 

Almost every other page is emblazoned with some type of drawing along with ‘Penis Parker’, ‘Mr. Penis’, ‘No-Penis Parker’, and other such highly-derivative variations. “Jesus, kid.” What hope do the rest of America's teens have if fucking  _Spiderman_ is getting bullied?

 

There’s a _thump_ as Peter’s mop of hair hits the tabletop. “It’s not what it looks like,” he says almost desperately, muffled through the wooden surface.

 

“I don’t— You… How the hell are you getting bullied?” Tony is absolutely not okay with how high-pitched his voice comes out, and he clears his throat and tries again. “Peter Parker, explain this right now.”

 

“Are you _mad_ at me?” Peter yelps, the indignation of it apparently enough of an incentive for him to raise his head.

 

“Damn right I’m mad at you.”

 

Peter bristles in umbrage, a self-righteous flush creeping up his neck. “I’m not a snitch. I’m not just gonna go run to the teachers.”

 

“An admirable character trait.” Tony pauses. “Don’t tell Cap I said that. Point is, there are many possible courses of action available to you, of which I’m guessing you’ve used a grand total of none.”

 

“This is victim-blaming,” Peter accuses, pointing from Tony to the textbook and back.

 

On the one hand, the kid has a point. On the other hand… “You have _super strength_. What do these twerps have? A sharpie and a working hand?”

 

Peter gapes at Tony, deflating as all the wind blows out of his sails at once. “Um… I— what?”

 

“Fisticuffs,” Tony pounds his palm impatiently. “Meet me in the schoolyard, do they not do that anymore?”

 

“I mean… I guess?” Peter’s staring at Tony like he’s grown a second head.

 

“You,” Tony jabs Peter in the chest, “have a guaranteed win. Is there a particular reason you’re not taking advantage of your superior abilities when as far as I can tell you have no problems doing so when it comes to every criminal in Queens?”

 

“They’re _criminals_.”

 

Tony holds up the textbook. “This is destruction of property.”

 

There’s a short pause. Then Peter says hesitantly, “Should you, uh… should you really be encouraging me to start fights?”

 

Tony knows this isn’t exactly advised in Parenting 101, but he’s not a parent for a reason. “I can certainly encourage a keen sense of justice in the youth of America.”

 

“Okay, well…” Peter doesn’t sound convinced. “I’m pretty sure Aunt May doesn’t share that view, so I’m just gonna keep my head down.”

 

“Fine. But know,” he says, picking up his pliers and pointing at Peter with them, “Know that I am shocked— nay, _appalled—_ at this turn of events.”

 

Peter gives him a beseeching look. “I can fight them if you think I should.”

 

Tony eyes him critically for a second, then shakes his head. “Nah, kid. Your heart wouldn’t be in it. Pretend we never had this conversation.” He waves his hand in front of Peter’s face in an imitation of a magic wand. 

 

“Mr. Stark, I—”

 

“I said it’s forgotten.” He motions to the exploding arrow he’s tuning. “Now you planning on pulling your weight any time soon, or should I finish this thing on my own?”

 

*

 

He doesn’t forget.

 

(It’s not that he cares. This is a May issue, not a Tony issue. He’s only trying to ensure that the next member of the Avengers isn’t mentally traumatized because of some pubescent bullying. That’s a field risk. To all of them.)

 

*

 

Steve and Natasha are sitting in the living enjoying what looks like a veritable mountain of popcorn between them. Tony floats in, sprawling on the seat next to Natasha.

 

“Nat.”

 

He feels rather than sees her sigh. “Tony.”

 

“Beautiful day outside, wouldn’t you say? Perfect for a nice stroll, or perhaps a little joyride on one of your bikes, I don’t know, I’m just spitballing here.”

 

“…right.”

 

“Say. I just had a great idea occur to me as I was speaking. Why don’t you hop across to Queens and pick up Spidey from daycare?”

 

She stares at him. “Why would I do that?”

 

“Think of it as an extension of your Avenging duties. Save the world, take out the trash, coordinate pick-ups and drop-offs. No job is too menial for Earth’s mightiest!” He flashes what he hopes is a winning smile.

 

Natasha eyes him dubiously before her eyes flick to Steve, who’s watching with an unhidden amount of curiousity. “Can I speak to you privately?” She jerks her head towards the kitchen.

 

Great. Tony shrugs at Steve like he has no idea what’s gotten into Natasha and follows her.

 

“What is wrong with you?” she demands when he closes the door behind him. “If this is some private contract you don’t want Steve knowing about…”

 

“Relax,” he holds his hands up placatingly, “It’s what I said. Pick him up from preschool.”

 

“Why,” she intones flatly.

 

“Look, it’s just…” Tony huffs out a frustrated breath, running his hands through his hair. Natasha follows his movements in that all-seeing way of hers that always manages to make him uncomfortable. “Can you be a little friendly with him? Y’know. Give him the ol’ razzle-dazzle.”

 

“He’s fifteen.”

 

“They call him Penis Parker.”

 

Natasha snorts. “Original.”

 

“Yeah well, what do you expect, they’re fifteen.” Tony loves throwing other people’s words back in their face. And he knows she’s going to agree, which gives him a little leeway. She and Cap are— as yet— the only ones who’ve really spent any time with Peter, the two of them being the best choices to train him in hand-to-hand and fighting an enhanced individual. As much as he’s had to deal with their disapproval over encouraging a teenager’s vigilantism, he knows they’re both smitten with the kid no matter how much they deny it. Which gives him the upper hand.

 

As he expects: “Fine,” Natasha says finally. “But you owe me, Stark.”

 

“The moon,” he promises, intending to be theatrical. The words come out a little too genuine for his liking, which he knows Natasha picks up on by the little glance she gives him. Great. The damn kid’s turning him into a sap.

 

Tony trails after her, back to the living room where she grabs her leather jacket from the back of her seat. Steve cocks an eyebrow at her, more than a little concerned. It would be a little insulting, Tony thinks, if she hadn’t paid for getting caught between them a few months ago.

 

“Stark’s on an anti-bullying campaign,” is all she says before heading out.

 

When she’s gone, Steve’s head swivels to Tony, who shrugs and pulls up a chair in front of the TV, pulling up feeds from the cameras surrounding Peter’s school. Many of which— fun fact!— he placed in position himself, even if he’d rather die before letting that little detail slip out.

 

Tony is half-expecting Steve to protest, but Steve is a giant-ass gossip on the best of days and says nothing as they wait for Natasha to get there.

 

***

 

Widow arrives on-screen exactly 32 minutes later, exactly as the final school bell rings. Instantly, kids mill out onto the basketball court and campus grounds, looking like little pinpricks on screen. Tony switches to one of the closer cameras for a better view.

 

Natasha saunters up to the courtyard, putting way more sway into her hips than Tony feels can be ergonomically efficient for movement. “Afternoon, boys. Anyone know where I can find Peter?”

 

The courtyard is loud as fuck, but somehow her voice carries. A wave of hushed silence falls over the chattering, only to be replaced by furtive, awed whispers.

 

“Holy shit.”

 

“That’s the Black Widow.”

 

“Holy _shit_.”

 

“What’s she doing here?”

 

“Black Widow’s outside!”

 

One of the kids Tony vaguely recognizes as being in Peter’s grade clears his throat and steps forward, a basketball gripped tightly in his hands. “Peter… Parker, Peter Parker?”

 

Natasha gives him a stunning smile, all teeth. “That’s the one.”

 

“Peter _Parker_?” the kid beside him gapes.

 

Natasha smiles at him too, but it’s sharper somehow, carrying a real message: _don’t make me repeat myself_.

 

There’s a small scuffle and commotion near the crowd of kids clustered at the school building's entrance; after a few seconds, Peter emerges, panting. He breaks away from the crowd and half-runs, half-walks the distance between him and Natasha, stopping a few feet away in confusion. Clearly someone had told him he was needed outside, and he’d been expecting Tony with an order to suit up rather than Widow.

 

“Good to see you, Peter.” Natasha greets him low and throaty.

 

Peter is clearly thrown by the lack of urgency in her voice and the unexpected sultriness. “I, uh, yeah… Good to— good to see you also, yeah.” 

 

“New haircut?”

 

Peter’s hand automatically floats up to smooth his hair self-consciously. “No?”

 

“I like it.”

 

“Thanks. I think.” He pauses, eyes flicking between Natasha and the gaggle of students hanging onto their every word. “Um. What are you… what are you doing here?”

 

“I was just passing by the area.”

 

Peter folds his arms then unfolds them. “Right, right of course. Passing by.”

 

God, this idiot. Tony needs to get him acting lessons. If Widow or one of the other Avengers ever does have to urgently pick him up for a mission, he’s going to blow his cover in two seconds flat. 

 

“I thought you might like a ride to the tower.” Natasha, to her credit, is sticking to the script with aplomb, even though Peter is failing at playing along with any sort of credibility. “And personally I wouldn’t mind discussing a few upgrades you could add to my bite the next time you’re in the workshop with Mr. Stark.”

 

“Oh yeah, the next time I— when I work on your Widow’s bite.” Peter nods, jumping onto the bone thrown at him. He leans against the basketball post in an apparent effort to look cool and collected. “That’s a… normal, totally normal, everyday thing. That I do.”

 

“Mm. What do you think about hooking it up to some boosters to get the juice really flowing? Maybe a little Asgardian armory in the receptors for extra protection against circuit failure.”

 

Absolutely zero words of that make any sort of sense, but Peter gives her a thumbs up. “Great idea. I know how to do that. Yes.”

 

“Perfect.” Natasha gives a tinkling laugh that Tony is 100% certain he has never heard before. “After you.”

 

“Thanks.” Peter hesitates, running his hand through his hair. “I actually, um— Sorry, I actually have academic decathlon practice right now and MJ will murder me if I miss it.” He’s trying so hard to be subtle it physically hurts Tony. “Unless it’s urgent and you want me right now…?”

 

Tony barks out a laugh. If _he_ heard the innuendo in that, two-hundred horny teenagers sure as fuck did. Steve buries his head in his hands, snorting.

 

“That’s alright,” Natasha assures him. “It can wait.”

 

“Are you sure?” Peter asks, looking torn and clearly not wanting to miss out on a mission. “I could just go grab my… stuff. If you need me now.”

 

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Natasha sounds like she’s speaking through gritted teeth, and Steve’s clutching his side. “It’s nothing time-sensitive.”

 

“Okay,” Peter says doubtfully. “If you’re sure.”

 

“See you around the tower.”

 

“Yeah. Thanks for, uh, passing by.”

 

“My pleasure.” Natasha gives him a wave goodbye, and Tony will give props where they’re due— she’s committed to her objective. When Peter disappears into the horde of backpacks, though, her walk back to her bike is decidedly less saunter and more stalk.

 

Thirty minutes later, she slams the door when she enters the living room, a deathly glare darkening her face. “Well I feel like a giant creep.”

 

Tony can’t help the laugh that sputters out of him. “I told you to be _friendly_ , I distinctly do not recall telling you to give him fuck-me eyes in front of the entire goddamn school.”

 

“You never mentioned he’s a terrible actor,” Natasha hisses.

 

Tony is absolutely certain of very few things in his life, but one of those things is that it is a _very terrible idea_ to get on Natasha’s bad side. “C’mon, you’ve seen Parker. There’s no way the first explanation anyone comes up with for all the obvious lying is a sordid, steamy underage affair. With _you_ of all people.”

 

“He’s right, Nat.” Steve’s trying to help and Tony appreciates that, but the fact that Steve is probably a worse liar than Peter and looks like he’s about one breath away from peals of laughter does not help at all. “They’re kids. He’ll get some brownie points for being helpful and well-liked by you in the lab and they’ll forget about it by tomorrow.”

 

Natasha looks slightly mollified, but she still steals Tony’s can of pop and drinks it with far more aggression than he feels is necessary.

 

Half an hour later, the door slams open and Peter rushes in, immediately beginning to talk when he catches sight of Tony sitting at the table. “Mr. Stark! Natasha stopped by my school today and-”

 

“Kid, be quiet, there’s—” For once in his life, Peter ignores Tony and barrels on, his words tumbling over themselves in one breath.

 

“No you don't get it Mr. Stark, I told them a million times it’s not true but they still think the Black Widow is into me and that she came to my school for a booty call!”

 

Steve coughs, sounding suspiciously like he’s hiding a laugh. Peter pales, his eyes closing briefly before he turns on his heel, his shoulders slumping dejectedly when he sees Cap and Widow on the couch.

 

“Oh. I— Crap,” he says weakly. “Hi?”

 

Natasha crushes the empty can of soda in her hand, then stands smoothly. “Time for training.” She smiles, shark-like with a disproportionate amount of threat, and stalks out in the direction of the gym.

 

“Oh shit,” Peter breathes, getting even paler if that’s even possible. “She’s gonna kill me. Mr. Stark, save me.”

 

“This one’s all on you, kid.” Tony claps him on the back. “Don’t think I’m touching that with a ten foot pole.”

 

Peter swallows, then glances at the doorway through which Natasha disappeared. “If I die, I leave all my stuff to Ned.”

 

“What, all of it?” Tony’s insulted. He feeds and clothes the kid, and he gets nothing? 

 

“Ned will know what to do with it all,” Peter answers with utmost seriousness. Then he gives a brief, dignified nod to Steve and Tony before squaring his shoulders and following after Natasha with the air of a soldier facing execution.

 

“I get nothing?” Tony squawks to Steve. “I make his fucking suit and this is the thanks I get?”

 

Steve rolls his eyes and snorts, standing up. “I’d better tag along, just to give her a second target for her murderous impulses.” 

 

Natasha does not speak to Tony for a week— not until he, in his ever-expanding judiciousness, actually does figure out how to incorporate Asgardian tech into the her bite for some added pizzazz. It takes him like four nights in the lab to work it out, but it’s worth every time he sees Peter showing up at trainings looking like the cat that ate the damn aviary.

 

The occasional stray penis continues to worm its way into Peter’s textbooks. Tony’s delighted to see that these particular representations are not only colored red and black, but shoot lightning as well. 

 

(He commits that juicy little fact to memory and wisely decides not to mention it to Natasha ever.)

**Author's Note:**

> Loved it, liked it, hated it? Leave a comment and let me know!


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